


Sate

by Siria



Series: Nantucket AU [75]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-10
Updated: 2008-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are days when they don't touch with intent: days John's away with clients, or when Rodney heads over to Boston to meet with Sam and Radek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sate

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cate for reading this through. For Jenn, without whom 50,000 words of this 'verse would not exist.

There are days when they don't touch with intent: days John's away with clients, or when Rodney heads over to Boston to meet with Sam and Radek. Long hours when Rodney's caught up in some new dimension he's glimpsed inside his head, or when John's found a fault with a fuel line in one of the planes, and neither of them stagger to bed before two in the morning, too worn out and dirty (Rodney covered in black and green Sharpie, John smudged and smeared with engine oil) for anything more than the close curl of their bodies while they sleep.

Sometimes, there are days when affection brims over simply, when touch can show all the ways they don't need to rush now, secure in their holding of one another: in the crinkling of the crow's feet around John's eyes when he smiles, kissing Rodney awake in the morning; the way Rodney's fingers will tangle with John's when they're sitting out on the porch, drinking coffee and watching Cash chase his own tail down on the beach in a cloud of sand and fur; the way they will brush against one another in their tiny kitchen in the evening, John making dinner while Rodney steals some of the food for himself and more of it for Planck.

But then there are the days like now, no less frequent now that the first wonder of it all has passed, when John will touch Rodney a certain way at breakfast--hand low at the small of his back, fingers brushing against the soft skin at the crook of one elbow--and they'll both be useless for the rest of the day. Coffee cooling, unheeded, on the kitchen table, while they kiss and bite and lick their way upstairs, clothing strewn haphazard to lie on floor and steps and disgruntled cat alike, wrapping themselves around one another while they rush to get tangled up in rumpled sheets, in the taste of one another.

Time speeds and slows in pace with the stutter of their frantic heartbeats, quick and urgent movements linked together by their universal constants: the delight John takes in them together, the way it makes his mouth soften and his eyes widen; the way Rodney's learned to touch him back, assured and certain, broad hands skimming over the smooth skin of John's sides, the length of his thighs.

Rodney strokes John to a fast and gasping orgasm in the morning, rattling the headboard against the wall with each twist and snap of his wrist; pushes his way into him slowly at noon, panting shallowly against John's freckled shoulder-blade, heated with his speeding pulse and the warm sun flooding through the windows to wash every inch of John's skin a pale and flawed gold; lies back against the pillows in the afternoon and watches with fascination as John kneels between his legs, the curve of his mouth stretched wide and generous around Rodney's cock, teasing him slowly with the tip of a pink tongue until Rodney can't breathe for the feel of it, the want of him.

"More," Rodney gasps, "more," greedy for everything he already has, and John tilts his head back and gives it to him, humming and moaning and giving every sign of loving it when Rodney's hips jerk helplessly upwards as he comes.

"Three," John says with satisfaction when he pulls off, mouth swollen and slick and tilting upwards in a grin that seems even more debauched than is warranted. "Four?"

"You," Rodney says, rib cage stuttering as he fights for air, fights against his eyelids fluttering closed at the way one of John's hands is stroking gently over his hip-bone, "Bastard. Insatiable, _bendy_\--"

"Five?" John asks hopefully, eeling his way back up Rodney's body, pressing open-mouthed kisses against his belly button and one tight nipple and the hollow of Rodney's throat. "I'll totally change the sheets later."

"You are _buying_ new sheets later," Rodney says sternly, eyeing the stains on the blue cotton, the rip where Rodney had put his foot through the sheet in an overly enthusiastic moment.

John looks up at him with a pout that should shame any man in his forties, all big eyes and crinkled forehead. Rodney gives in to the urge to roll his own eyes before he flips them over so that John's on his back and Rodney's pressed down on top of him, loving the startled heave of John's breathing and the hot press of John's cock against his belly. Rodney works one thigh in between John's own, smirking at the way that makes John's gaze go hazy, unfocused, makes his hips start to work; he leans in and whispers "Seven" against John's mouth, and the grin that sparks on John's face doesn't fade for some time, not til the stars are out in the skies over Nantucket and Rodney's snoring softly against one ear.


End file.
